


When The War Is Over

by TheFriendliestPunk



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: But she survives, Dorian is there if you squint, F/M, Fenris definitely wasn't heading to Lothering after Hawke disappeared nope, Hawke Left in the Fade (Dragon Age), Injury Recovery, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Here Lies the Abyss, Reunions, Varric is the best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26896291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFriendliestPunk/pseuds/TheFriendliestPunk
Summary: Predictably, even a giant Fade spider isn't enough to kill Hawke. Fenris hurries back to Skyhold to meet her and two idiots in love finally get their happy reunion.
Relationships: Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	When The War Is Over

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Cheesy Angsty Time](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/697924) by serpentsshipmate. 



> Their work is awesome and hits all my fenhawke feels, definitely go check them out!

An Inquisition runner skids into the room, looking like he’s just seen a ghost. He hikes one thumb towards the hall.

“Uh, Serah Hawke, Commander Cullen said to inform you there is a…glowing…elf heading towards the main hall?”

Varric and I lock eyes.

“You don’t think—” _He wasn’t supposed to arrive for another few days, at least._

Varric shakes his head knowingly and laughs.

“Do we know any other glowing elves?” he asks.

I can already feel a grin spreading on my face. My heart beats faster, half expecting him to come barreling through the door any second. And somehow, even after spending weeks apart with a dull, constant ache to remind me of his absence, the thought of him being so close but not _here_ is suddenly unbearable.

I grab my cane and practically vault off the bed. Mistake; gravity seems to increase tenfold and my legs quake threateningly, but Varric appears on my other side to hold me steady.

I half expect him to insist I wait here. Crack a joke about not letting me fall head-over-heels for him in front of the entire Inquisition. Instead he loops his arm through mine and leads me toward the door.

“Let’s go find Broody,” he says with a smile, and I would hug him if I thought I could do so without falling over.

We traverse the hallway before coming to the first big hurdle: the stairs. I hand my cane off to Varric and grip the railing so hard my knuckles bleach white. Each step downwards feels like a victory. That is, until about halfway down when I can no longer catch my breath and my vision swoops in odd directions.

“We can take a break, Hawke. I’m sure he’ll find us in, oh, about thirty seconds,” Varric points out, putting an arm out in front of me to hold my attention.

“No. I need to do this,” I close my eyes, taking a few deep breaths to recenter before continuing.

A few people pass by us going the other way, casting lingering glances and whispering as they move away. The tremors in my limbs suddenly seem so much more damning. I divert my focus to Varric’s arm through mine, steady and warm.

_One foot in front of the other._

I could weep with relief when we reach the gardens without injury. The uneven stone paths through the center would be a nightmare, so we stick to the paved outer walkway. I begin to stumble more as we draw closer to the main hall, strength threatening to give at any moment, but I push myself onwards.

We pass a patrol of guards that splits down the middle to let us by. Through one door, into an interior hallway. One more door—

We push through into the main hall, bustling with the midday surge of nobles standing idle to gossip. I search every surrounding face, keep my ears tuned for that gravelly voice I have missed so much, until I follow the gazes of several onlookers as they turn in unison to face someone shoving through the crowd.

A dark figure, white-haired and glowing with delicate lines of blue, is doing the same dance as me: peering over the crowd, searching. His hair is mostly pulled back but hangs loose and crooked in places, eyes wild and darting. His cloak still has snow blanketing the shoulders. Maker, he looks like he _ran_ all the way here. My heart feels like it could burst.

“Fenris!” I yell as loud as I can.

Fenris’ head snaps in my direction, gaze roving, before it settles and stays. I can’t hear him over the clamor, but it looks like he mouths my name. He pushes roughly through the crowd. People quickly catch on and preemptively move out of his way until he’s running to close the distance.

The ache becomes too much. I reclaim my balance and stumble forward on my own, walking unaided for the first time in weeks. I barely make it a handful of steps before my legs give out but suddenly Fenris is there, _he’s really there,_ and I fall into his arms.

Fenris holds me to his chest, both arms closed around me so tightly he must think we’ll both turn to dust if he lets go. I mumble his name incoherently, relief hitting in waves, and it takes only a moment to realize my name falls from his lips too. One hand moves into my hair, running his fingers through the curls. The other skates up and down my back. I shiver at the sensation and burrow deeper into the hard line of Fenris’ body: the heat radiating against me until all the cold and the fear melts away, the taut muscles of his shoulders beneath my fingertips, the way he smells of wind and sweat and _home_.

“You stubborn fool,” he whispers. I cannot see the tears in his eyes, but the tremor in his voice is clear enough.

“Hey, I didn’t die. I kept my promise,” I murmur into his ear.

Fenris drops his head onto my shoulder and groans. The sound vibrates across my skin and it is so familiar that I can’t help but smile. Then Fenris straightens and shocks me by taking my face in his hands. Gone is the urgency from before; his palms come to rest ever so gently against my cheeks. One finger brushes over the bruise on my cheekbone. I lean into his touch instinctively, my eyes fluttering shut, but I force them open to meet his gaze.

Twin pools of emerald green captivate my attention as they search my face, passing over every new bump and scar. There is a fondness in his expression that makes my heart turn to mush. I want nothing more than for him to hold me again, but I let him look. His markings are still burning as bright as the chandeliers above us.

“Festis bei umo canavarum,” he says, and there is something reverent in his tone.

“Speaking Tevene is cheating,” I pout.

Fenris smiles, a soft, small thing.

“You will be the death of me,” he murmurs, and presses his lips to mine.

It is nothing like any kiss of ours before. It is a far cry from the frenzied mess from our night together in Kirkwall. It isn’t hesitant like at Adamant either, a goodbye and a confession I was too afraid to put into words. This is slow, and intense, and _hard._ Fenris leans into where our lips meet and I press up against him, grasping his sides to ground myself as the strength of sensation threatens to sweep me away. His lips are so soft and plush for a touch so passionate, claiming my mouth and this moment in a clear declaration: _I don’t want to be anywhere but right here._ It is so many things at once: an answer, a reprimand, a plea.

I let my hands move upwards, along the back of Fenris’ neck and into his hair, eliciting a groan from him. He nips my bottom lip in return. I tug lightly on his hair, tilting his head to get a better angle, but I am brought back to our surroundings in a flash when I realize several people are whistling appreciatively.

Fenris stiffens as well and pulls back. The memory of my recovery abruptly returns when I go weak in the knees, literally, and crash towards the floor. Fenris catches me on the way down. He keeps me upright with an arm around my waist.

“Hawke, are you all right?” he demands, searching my face.

“I’m fine,” I reassure him, looking around for my cane. It’s not in my hand, so I must have dropped it nearby. “I could have sworn—”

“Looking for this?” Varric prompts, approaching us with a shit-eating grin and my cane hanging from his arm. The realization dawns that I must have dropped it when I ran to meet Fenris.

My cheeks burn hot. I accept the cane back, relieved to stand at least partially under my own power.

“Varric,” Fenris says warmly.

“Hey, Elf. Have any trouble finding the place?”

“Without Hawke’s impeccable sense of direction? I’m impressed I made it out of Fereldan,” Fenris mutters dryly.

I smack him lightly in the side with my free hand and make a face. Fenris chuckles and for a moment, he looks as if he wants to kiss me again.

“It’s good to have you back, Broody, but we should probably continue this conversation somewhere private,” Varric suggests, raising an eyebrow pointedly at the rest of the surrounding crowd. “That is, unless you want everyone in the Inquisition to write their own romance serial about you two.”

I finally brave a glance at the rest of the people gathered in the main hall to see almost all of them staring between us in astonishment. I think I even spy Dorian in one corner, struggling to hide his laughter behind a book.

“A wise plan,” Fenris agrees, raising an eyebrow. “Perhaps then you can explain how you ended up in the Fade.”

I glance at Varric, but he only offers me an amused _you-knew-this-was-coming_ look.

“Ah. Yes,” I say sheepishly. “That’s a long story.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is part of a (much) longer fic I'm working on but I wanted to share something in the meantime. Feedback is always appreciated!


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